would, in fact, resolve themselves simply into a sequence of his own words:

"It's no I like to sit and swallow,

Then like a swine to puke and wallow
But gie me just a true guid fallow
Wi' right engine,

And spunkie, ance to make us mellow,
And then we'll shine."

That principle seemed to animate the poet's drinking habits until possibly toward the end, when the old, old story of they that tarry long at the wine" was realized in his case as in countless others. But at that late period its insidious advances were unregarded, unnoticed, in the gloom which ill-health, perhaps disappointed ambition, and several hard knocks in the battle of life had brought about. To Burns the temptation to excesses were many from the days of Mossgiel until almost the last of earth was in sight and he deserves to be credited with his moderation, his triumph so long over these temptations rather than be held up as a horrible example, with all the degradation that such a product implies, because as the darkness was setting he may have overcome his native caution and sought temporary forgetfulness from his misery in the flowing bowl when it was virtually thrust before him. But, however all this may be, it should be distinctly remembered that whatever breaches of the laws of health and sobriety the poet committed had no effect upon his muse, or rather we are not indebted to them for what he has given us, although they may have robbed us of much. Of that, however, we cannot tell. We must just take the record as it is and estimate the genius which dwelt in the man by the results before us, and value the legacy of his harp by the strains it has sung. Nor need we gloat upon details of other breaches of the moral law. The grass has long since been growing over the graves of all immediately interested, and with their departure the sins have been expiated so far as we are concerned. The literary ghouls who revel in such detailssuch useless details to us for all practical purposes-should have been crushed long ago. In all that we stand side by side with Jean Armour, and surely what she could forgive the world can-now, at least-afford to condone, if not to forget.

What we want to know, what any right-minded man desires to know about Burns, are-(1) How Burns was fitted for his career; (2) how his mind developed during that career; and (3) what he accomplished. All outside of these divisions belongs to the mere man, and should have been forgotten on that 25th day of July, 1796, when all that was mortal of the bard was laid in auld St. Michael's Kirkyard, Dumfries. Now and again an escapade may have given rise to a song or a thought which the world will not forget, may even have so colored the man's career as to shape his destiny and influence his song, and in that case the escapade, whatever it may have been, is worth considering. But such influencing escapades are comparatively rare-surprisingly so, when we remember that the best efforts of admirers, biographical, editorial, oratorical, and otherwise, have been to represent him to us as a poor weak creature of wayward impulses, instead of a man who towered intellectually above his fellow men by the sheer force and power of that marvellous genius by which he was endowed.

II.

EDUCATIONAL AND HOME TRAINING.

MOTHER.

-THE POET'S FATHER AND

ROBERT BURNS was born in a mud-walled cottage, about as humble a habitation as could be found in Scotland; and poverty, hard and unending toil were the things he was most acquainted with when he began his life's journey. The cottage still stands near the now classic Doon, and is in itself a silent but significant tribute to his genius. From it we can almost throw a stone to the beautiful monument which was erected to his memory after his earthly career had closed, and, with the little dwelling on one side and the memorial on the other, we can estimate what mighty strides upward the bairn of the cottage must have taken to have merited the temple. Humble as the home was, and dreary and hopeless the toil, the hardships of the father and mother and of the bairns who made up the little kingdom, were sweetened by that pure content that comes from the spirit of true religion. Burns himself has said:" It was, with the exception of a little straw, literally a tabernacle

of clay. In this mean cottage, of which I myself was at times an inhabitant, I really believe there dwelt a larger portion of content than in any palace in Europe. The 'Cottar's Saturday Night' will give some idea of the temper and manners that prevailed there."

The condition of things was little better at Mount Oliphant farm where the family removed in 1766, and where "for several years butcher's meat was a stranger in the house"; nor was it much improved after 1777 when they entered upon an informal lease of the farm of Lochlea, Tarbolton, although the poet says that for the first four years on that holding they "lived comfortably."

Few men, we care not in what sphere of life they were born, had a better practical training than Robert Burns, and that he did not completely utilize that training to his own personal advantage no one was more painfully conscious than himself. He often resolved to be wise, to settle down into being a cunning agriculturist, to win a repute for his skill in flocks and herds, not only in his early days but after his experience with the Edinburgh gentry, but in him the waywardness of genius carried on through life a triumphant fight against mere earthly wisdom; and it is well for Scotland that genius won, and lent its color to the life even though its defeat would have been a gain to the man. Yet even the practical training was needed to fully develop the genius which was his birthright.

William Burnes, the poet's father, was a man of superior ability, of sterling honesty, and of deep religious feeling. "A silent hero and poet," Carlyle describes him, "without whom the son had never been a speaking one." As we read the information concerning him that has come down to us he certainly appears to have been, in one way, as gifted as his son, but his deep sense of duty kept him day and night in harness to pay his debts and maintain a roof over his family. Stern and unyielding in pursuing whatever course he deemed was right, he had the same courage which made the Covenanters take to the hillsides, and stand in array against the bloody Claverhouse and the forces of King Charles the Blackguard at Bothwell Brig. His duty, as he deemed it, next to his Maker, was to his family, and the example he set was never forgotten by any of them. Nor was his life to be considered a failure though it ended in poverty and debt in the early months of 1784.